


Breaking Down

by ClothesBeam



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Sexual Violence, Torture
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-10-24
Updated: 2017-05-29
Packaged: 2018-08-24 10:02:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8368141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClothesBeam/pseuds/ClothesBeam
Summary: Deadlock has impressed Megatron again by capturing the most famous of the Autobot medics. But he quickly comes to think Ratchet is more trouble than he’s worth when his usual intimidation tactics won’t work. Surely the old bot can’t be as much of an impenetrable fortress as he pretends.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Please check the warnings and tags! Despite my efforts to adjust the tone of it, the summary alone probably makes this sound more light-hearted than it actually is. As usual when I write these kinds of things, the further we go the more fucked up it’s going to get, so be aware this might turn into something you’re not comfortable with reading.

Deadlock felt the familiar thrill run through him when Megatron’s expression turned to surprised pleasure on the video conferencing screen in front of him. “You captured Ratchet? Are you sure it’s him?” Deadlock was mildly offended by his disbelief, but he supposed he could understand it. It _had_ been pure chance that the famous medic had become separated from the other Autobots and trapped by his small unit. The bomb suddenly going off had surprised all of them, and injured half his sting unit.

“Reasonably sure,” Deadlock replied patiently. “I can show you footage of the containment unit if you’d like to see?”

Megatron nodded and shifted slightly in his seat on the bridge of the main mobile Decepticon base. Deadlock had been on the other side of the screen many times before, and looked forward to returning to his side soon. Unfortunately they didn’t have enough fuel to move at a reasonable pace, but if they were lucky Megatron would be able to spare someone to meet them halfway with the resources they’d need.

Deadlock squinted down at the communications control panel by the pilot’s seat in his own, far smaller, vessel. He realised he wasn’t exactly sure how to access that footage, nor display it in the call. He’d only become leader of his off-planet sting unit recently, and Topcoat was too injured to be in the co-pilot chair doing this for him. Not that it really mattered when they would be on autopilot until they returned to base.

“Sorry, this communications panel is a little different to what I’m used to,” he apologised when the silence dragged on a little too long. Megatron nodded again absently, seemingly unconcerned. But Deadlock was still relieved that he figured out how to bring up the camera feed soon after that. “Here we go.”

The ship’s small containment cell came into view. Ratchet sat on the solid slab with his wrists bound in front of him in stasis cuffs to prevent any creative uses of his in-built medical tools. His optics slowly and methodically scanned his surroundings. He was clearly cataloguing his options.

Deadlock saw his remaining able-bodied troop wander past the cell, cautiously holding his weapon on the side that was furthest from Ratchet. Kingpin was usually sensible about these things, if a little paranoid sometimes. Deadlock knew their field medic, Lode, was flat on his back on one of the berths in the living area, in critical condition. And Topcoat had been shoved in a stasis pod as soon as they’d realised he was even worse off than their medic.

Deadlock’s thoughts were drawn away from his crew members by Megatron’s voice. “Excellent work, Deadlock. I’ll have a fitting reward for you and your crew when you arrive with the prisoner. I’m expecting he will be… complicit to instruction by then.”

Deadlock clenched his hands into fists where they rested on his knees, out Megatron’s line of sight. He didn’t particularly enjoy doing that sort of thing to mechs who weren’t easily persuaded. At least, that’s what he told himself. If he were being honest, there was something satisfying about making someone suffer in the same way he had been forced to on the streets so long ago.

But it was hard to be that honest, even with himself.

“I understand. It’ll be a while before we reach you, so I’ll see how much progress I can make. But, getting my crew members back on their feet should be the priority, right?” He only made it sound like a question to seem slightly more proper.

“I think you will find Ratchet can help you with that too,” Megatron replied vaguely, and Deadlock took that as permission to use his best judgement. “I will have to contact you again another time. There are battles elsewhere that require my attention, and I don’t need another repeat of that abysmal mess you just came out of.”

Deadlock felt slightly guilty, even though he’d only been sent to the battlefield for clean-up and had nothing to do with creating the mess in the first place. “I understand,” Deadlock replied shortly. “I hope things turn out for the best.”

Megatron nodded again, accepting his well wishes before cutting the transmission. Deadlock checked over the autopilot display one last time before leaving the cockpit unattended. He exited into the narrow hallway located between the two main halves of the ship. On one side there was the living area, which mainly consisted of two sets of bunk beds and an energon dispenser. On the other was the storage facilities for both their supplies and people.

At the back of the ship was the emergency supplies, engine access, the escape pods and the airlock. Their stasis pod was also back there. A ship this size should really only have two occupants for such a long journey, but supplies were short, so tempers couldn’t afford to be.

Deadlock turned to his right, deciding to check on Lode first, since his condition was the most unstable. He entered the living quarters to see Lode’s small frame was still on the berth where he’d left him. The mech wasn’t quite a minibot, but he was smaller than average. Apparently that had made it easier for him to move through dangerous tunnels and reach trapped or injured mechs in the mines before the war.

Thankfully the medic was still conscious, and seemed to be monitoring his own condition carefully. He’d been lucky his spark chamber hadn’t been affected by the blast, unlike Topcoat, but he still had to deal with several large chunks of debris stuck in and around the vital organs in his abdomen. So while his life wasn’t in immediate danger, his existence wasn’t exactly a comfortable one, nor was he useful to them, at the moment.

“Lode?” he said, more to announce himself than anything.

“Deadlock?” he replied weakly, though he knew it had to be him since the ship had so few occupants. “What’s happening now?”

Deadlock stood over him and rested his elbow against the top bunk of the berths as he thought about how to answer that. He didn’t miss the way the mech’s optics flickered over his frame before skittering away. He vaguely recalled the early days of the revolution when he’d traded him sexual favours for upgrades and repairs to non-essential systems, long before they’d developed an army with resources to give their soldiers those kinds of things. The only reason he’d agreed to work with Lode these days was that the mech knew how to keep his mouth shut about it.

“Megatron confirmed that it is Ratchet we’re dealing with. I’ll focus on getting him to perform those extractions and repairs properly,” he replied, nodding toward Lode’s wounds. Ignorant hands would only cause more damage trying to remove them. “Then you can see if there’s anything you can do about Topcoat.”

“I think, if he knows you and Kingpin are the only ones on active duty, I think he’ll do everything he can to wait you out, until you both get weary. He knows he’ll lose his advantage as far as numbers go if he heals me.

“You could try mentioning my name to him. It’s a long shot, but I had to do a medical short course before I got my role in the mines. He was just a graduate student doing what he had to so he could pass back then, but he might recall who I am.”

Deadlock frowned at the long winded explanation, but nodded. It was better than nothing. If Ratchet recognised _him_ from his past life, there would certainly be no benefit there. “All right,” he agreed. “Make sure you contact me if your condition goes downhill. As you just said, we can’t afford to monitor you as well.”

Lode nodded and took out his communicator. “I wish I could remove these myself,” he mumbled.

Deadlock shook his head. “No use worrying about that now.”

He moved back over to the door that led to the corridor, ignoring the look of relief and gratitude on Lode’s face. He moved across the hall and into the storage area. Boxes of energon, ammunition, fuel and power cells lined the walls, creating something of an L-shaped corridor in the rectangular room. Deadlock turned right and saw Kingpin leaning against the other end of the corridor. As Deadlock approached him, the cell itself came into view.

It was the best a ship like this could do for a brig. Metal walls separated the containment unit from the piles of boxes on either side, and metal bars kept him locked in and away from the boxes on the other side of the room. The more modern laser bars would use far too much fuel, and would be unreliable as soon as the power went out.

Ratchet looked bored as Deadlock came into view, but he knew he’d been attentively searching his surroundings a few minutes ago, so didn’t buy it. “Not the most secure prison I’ve ever escaped from,” he commented loudly.

“And you’re still in there? Must be losing your touch,” Deadlock replied flatly as he planted himself in front of the bars, staring down his nose at the still seated medic. “But maybe I’ll let you out for a while if you’re interested in saving poor little Lode’s spark.”

It seemed stirring up a little anger first had caused his response to Lode’s designation to be a little stronger. But the medic’s facial features almost instantly settled back into the usual disgruntled expression. “I _saw_ him after the bomb exploded,” he replied sharply. “As long as he doesn’t move he’ll survive. I assume your other friend is either dead or in stasis by now.”

“Well, you’re not going to be much use to Megatron if you won’t fix his soldiers,” Deadlock replied casually.

Ratchet’s brows dropped. “You’re taking me to Megatron?”

It was oddly satisfying to see the prospect seemed to scare him, at least a little. “He seemed very interested when he learnt of your identity.”

“Humph, you shouldn’t make promises you can’t keep. I’ll be out of here in a few cycles at most.”

Lode had been right about this as well, it seemed. Likely he was saying this to make them keep full surveillance on him, which would tire them out more quickly. Then he would make his real escape attempt, whatever it was. But Deadlock knew a puff when he saw one.

“Of course you will,” he replied condescendingly. “Kingpin, go get some rest. We’ll need you to be at the top of your game in a few cycles, apparently.”

The taller Decepticon snorted and rolled his optics. “Yeah, sure,” he replied from behind his facemask as he pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against. He made his way down to the other end of the hall at a sedentary pace.

Deadlock returned to staring down the medic. “It must be frustrating, Ratchet. If you could access your spot welder, you’d be out of here in no time. As things are, well, I think I might go rest up for now as well.” A lie, of course. He’d be going back to the pilot’s chair. “If you behave, we might even extend some of our rations to you.”

“Don’t do me any favours,” Ratchet grumbled, now staring at the floor with a hard expression.

“No need to worry about that, _Autobot_.”


	2. Chapter 2

Deadlock sat in the pilot’s chair with a view of Ratchet up on one of the screens, and absently sipped from the corner of his cube. It seemed he’d been in recharge for all of the past day. Deadlock assumed he was trying to conserve energy after he’d threatened to starve him.

There was a shuffling behind him, and he glanced around to see Kingpin standing behind him, hands resting on his hips. “Still just lying there, huh?” the four wheeler asked as he squinted up at the screen.

“Looks like it,” Deadlock replied as he stood. “I’ll give him a ration if it’ll encourage him to be quiet for the rest of the trip. It should only take around six days, since Megatron is going to spend resources to get us and our special guest back to base quicker.”

“I don’t know, didn’t you say Megatron wants him compliant by the time we get back? Mech like him… Even using extreme methods, it will take much longer than six days.”

“Then at the first hint of resistance, I’ll have to start employing abnormal methods, won’t I?”

Kingpin shrugged, not caring to argue with him on the point. Deadlock had chosen him for his team because of his willingness to go with the flow, unless he thought something was extremely stupid. It was a useful way to check his own decisions without risking someone trying to usurp authority from him.

“Lode is still doing all right,” he added before dropping into the pilot’s chair, so that Deadlock could leave the front of the ship. “But it’d be better if we could get him back on his pedes again.”

“I’ll have a chat to him. Might be worth playing up his condition if we can make it sound believable,” he replied as he turned to the door, which opened near silently.

“Ok,” Kingpin replied vaguely, already engrossed in performing his own checks on the autopilot system, as per procedure.

Deadlock moved back to the living quarters, clutching what little remained of his cube. He was feeling the cabin fever already. Everything was so narrow, cramped and _close_. If they weren’t on a vessel made of materials tough enough for long distance space travel, they would’ve had to worry about Ratchet being able to overhear them outside the storage room.

Deadlock approached the berth Lode had reluctantly made his second home. “Everything still as normal as can be?” he asked.

“Given the circumstances, yes. I’m fine,” Lode replied quickly. He had probably had the same conversation with Kingpin just a minute ago.

Deadlock nodded and got straight to business from there. “I want to tell Ratchet your condition is worsening, and see if I can convince him to work on you peaceably. Is there a way to put that so he’ll find it plausible?”

Lode paused to consider this seriously. “Hmm, well, the easiest thing to say is probably that I tried to remove the smaller shard near my hip structure on my own. He’ll assume it’s in my t-cog, which it probably actually is, and it’s something you can easily observe with little medical knowledge. Tell him I’m losing energon fast and you don’t have the supplies to keep up constant replenishment until we reach the base.”

“All right,” he agreed. “That’ll be an excuse to not fuel him until he takes action as well. Thanks.”

Lode looked pleased by his gratitude and nodded. “Just let me know if you need help with anything. I’m dying of boredom here, more than anything else.”

“I’m getting antsy too, but we just have to be patient,” he replied quietly, already turning away to face their prisoner.

He thought he heard a “good luck” before he left, and made his way across the small space to the prison. He walked slowly down the corridor, knowing his footsteps were audible. He placed the cube on one of the storage boxes before he came to a halt in front of the bars and put on his best acting.

“Ratchet, I need your help,” he said softly.

The medic stirred, and Deadlock wondered whether that was his own acting, or if he'd actually been in a long period of recharge aboard an enemy vessel. It must be nice to have the privileges of being medical staff. If he’d decided to take a nap while he was in the medic’s position, he probably wouldn’t have woken up again.

“Huh?” he asked, recovering from his muzzy post-recharge state with surprising speed. “Dri… Deadlock,” he corrected, or perhaps stuttered, it was difficult to tell. While being recognised was a source of embarrassment, it could actually help him in this situation.

“It’s Lode… You know him, don’t you? The stubborn glitch tried to remove one of the small pieces of debris stuck in him. Neither of us know what to do; he won’t stop leaking no matter what I try, and we don’t have the resources to keep him going until we get to base. Isn’t there something you can do?”

Ratchet frowned, but did sit up. “What have you tried?” He showed concern, but he clearly wasn’t ready to believe him at face value.

“Well, maintaining compression is causing him too much pain. I’m guessing there are more shards trapped inside him.”

Ratchet leaned back again, still looking contemplative. “If that was the case, he would’ve died from internal leaking by now. Nice try, but why don’t you ham it up a bit more next time?”

“Don’t have that much of a bleeding heart, huh? Well, whether you believe me or not, we don’t have the resources to fuel you now.”

Ratchet sighed heavily and turned away, lying down on the slab again with his back to him. Deadlock wondered if he was trying to provoke him, and if so, why. But if he thought he’d leave without reacting again, he was _sorely_ mistaken.

He moved to the cell door on impulse and unlocked it. “Stay where you are,” he warned and stepped through the door. Ratchet sat up again quickly and twisted to look at him. He clearly hadn’t been expecting this.

Deadlock sneered and drew the pistol on his hip with his infamous speed. Intellectually he knew his impulsive behaviour would only get him in trouble one day, but he’d overcome most of his opponents in the past by simply relying on his instincts and being the fastest to act. And given that Ratchet represented everything he despised, it wasn’t a chore to pull the trigger.

Ratchet grunted and collapsed on his side again when the shot hit right above his hip component. “I told you not to move,” he snapped as he approached, keeping his weapon trained on his prisoner. “Now kneel on the floor, face the slab.”

Ratchet’s brows drew together and lowered, but he did what he was told despite the pain he was clearly in. He tried to hold a neutral expression, but his optics were burning with apprehension as he stared intensely at nothing.

“Do you think this is funny? All just a little game to you, like the revolution was?”

Ratchet had spent so much time trying to plug holes in the sinking ship that had been their society that he hadn’t been able to see the problem was with the system as a whole. Mechs became Decepticons because they didn’t want half-afted ‘compromise’. For them there were two choices: continue existing in indentured servitude or revolt. How could he ever expect anyone who wouldn’t really be affected by the outcome to have an understanding of, let alone a commitment to the cause? And now he, and all of the Autobots, were just standing in the way of the change they were trying to achieve.

Ratchet didn’t even try to respond to his questions, seeming to realise there was no right way to answer. He clenched his dentae together and continued staring at the wall in front of him instead. Deadlock stepped up onto the metal surface of the slab and stood in front of the medic confidently. Ratchet glanced up at him for a moment as though surprised, but quickly returned to his neutral expression.

“Hands up here where I can see them,” Deadlock said, indicating the surface of the slab while his other hand kept the weapon trained on Ratchet’s guarded shoulder joint. He couldn’t afford to actually kill him, after all.

Ratchet lifted his cuffed hands and lightly rested them on the solid metal slab, clenched tightly into fists. Now that just wouldn’t do.

“Lay them flat,” Deadlock ordered.

The corner of Ratchet’s mouth twitched before he slowly rotated his wrists so he could lay them palm up.

“Turn them over,” Deadlock added, guessing that Ratchet was obeying the order in an odd way to protect himself. “And spread your fingers apart.”

This time Ratchet hesitated, but a short glance up at the gun trained on him was enough to make him part them. Deadlock shifted one of his pedes forward and Ratchet’s hands flinched away from him slightly. Since Lode wasn’t a forged medic, he hadn’t had any experience with a surgeon’s sensitive hands before, but he’d heard plenty about them.

“Don’t make this more difficult for yourself, Ratchet,” Deadlock taunted, shifting his finger over the trigger to draw his optics to it.

Ratchet’s scowl became more pronounced, but his hands stayed where they were. Deadlock put his pede forward again, and this time positioned them over Ratchet’s fingers. He shifted his weight forward slightly, testing for a response as a smaller section of his pedes pressed against fingers.

Ratchet winced and hunched his shoulders slightly, but remained stoic otherwise. Deadlock backed off there, and had to force himself to not laugh at the brief look of confusion that crossed Ratchet’s face. Now he had a good indicator of how much blunt force he’d have to use to get a reaction.

Without warning he raised his pede sharply and slammed it down. But Ratchet was faster than he’d given him credit for, and pulled his hands back at the last second so he couldn’t stomp on them. Deadlock automatically let off a shot, in case he got it into his head that he’d caught him off guard. More energon leaked from the wound in his shoulder, which was on the opposite side to the one on his waist. He’d like to see Ratchet get comfortable enough to spend another day in recharge.

Deadlock let Ratchet think he’d gotten away with it before driving the side of his pede into his nose. He thought he heard it break, but he was still mildly surprised when the medic fell back and didn’t get up again. Deadlock waited a moment to make sure he was going to stay down, and then cautiously stepped down off the slab. He pushed the medic’s head from side to side, and soon realised that he’d induced a self-shutdown to escape his violent retribution.

Part disappointed his fun was over, and part disgusted by the Autobot’s weakness, Deadlock left him where he was and exited the cell. It took a certain talent to go unconscious at will, and he wasn’t surprised that a medic as infamous as Ratchet could do so. He was sure Lode knew how to prevent him from doing it again. Next time he’d come prepared with the appropriate tools.

Deadlock made sure the cell was locked securely again before he left, wondering if Ratchet was just pretending to be pathetic so they’d let their guard down. He glanced at the cube with a trickle of liquid still inside it, and wondered whether Ratchet would bleed out if he left him.

Deadlock shook his head slightly. He wouldn’t have shut himself off if that was a risk. He placed the cube on the ground just inside the bars. The medic would probably lose more fuel moving over to the cube than was held inside it, he thought smugly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, yes I did stand on my own hand while writing this chapter.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I sometimes use warnings lightly on this site, but that’s not the case in this fic. If the torture part made you unbearably uncomfortable in the last chapter, it’s even worse at the start of this one.

Lode extended the limited range of tools built into his arm. He was a first responder, not a surgeon, but he still had a relatively large range of the tools needed to perform emergency procedures. And even some exclusively for ship maintenance.

“It’ll hurt more with a thin bit,” he explained as he pointed out the drill bit he was referring to. “It’s more focused that way. And you’ll be able to get right into the joints without completely destroying them.”

The medic removed the drill bit from the compartment in his arm and pushed it into the chuck of the drill Deadlock was holding out to him. It was small, meant for creating replacements of delicate ship parts in emergencies. Once the bit was in place, Deadlock pulled on the trigger to activate it. The machine whined and the pointed piece of metal spun.

“Great, and how are we going to stop him from shutting himself down again?”

Lode pulled a syringe filled with liquid from his subspace and attached a needle to the end of it. “This one jabbed in his elbow joint will force him awake for at least six hours. Then you can… do whatever it is you need to do. You could use a Syk substitute as well, but I assume you want him to be fully present.”

Deadlock nodded and took the syringe carefully. “I’m not sure Megatron would appreciate it if I accidentally got him addicted to something like that.” Not to mention, he knew from personal experience that it could act as a temporary pain medication, at least until he came crashing down from it. “Kingpin, let’s go.”

The four wheeler rose from where he’d been sitting on the lower berth behind them and followed him into the hallway without a word. Deadlock paused and turned, fingering the plunger of the syringe in his hand.

“All you have to do is restrain him. Pay attention though; he is a medic, so he’s much stronger than he looks. And this is going to hurt him a lot.”

“No need to worry. I know how I’m gonna lock his finger joints in place. Just don’t get carried away and drill into the floor.”

Deadlock narrowed his optics at the backhanded warning, but didn’t take it to spark. Kingpin’s straightforwardness was what he kept him around for, after all. “Then let’s do this.”

They entered the storage area and left their weapons on one of the crates, away from the cell. Deadlock stood near the door, surveying the cell and what Ratchet was doing. He lay on the slab again, on his back this time, though with more weight on his uninjured shoulder. The energon he’d left him last cycle was still there, and for some reason, that annoyed him more than anything else.

“Don’t move,” he warned before opening the door, and was pleased when the medic froze in place this time.

“What is it now?” Ratchet asked, managing to restrain his tone to something neutral as Kingpin approached him.

“We’re still waiting for you to put Lode back together,” Deadlock reminded casually as Kingpin reached down and tugged on the medic’s arm to get him to sit up. “But if you’re not going to use your hands for anything useful, then I may as well use them to entertain myself.”

Ratchet looked apprehensive, but went along with Kingpin when he told him to get on his knees. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“You’re about to find out,” he replied as Kingpin knelt behind Ratchet.

He grabbed his hands, raising the palm and pushing the knuckle joints into the ground so his fingers would be forced to stay straight and spread out. “Well, isn’t this cosy,” Kingpin muttered dryly when he had to get even closer to prevent the medic from struggling out of his grip. He lifted one of Ratchet’s hands and placed it further away from them so that his elbow joint was exposed.

Deadlock readjusted his grip on the injector and knelt down to administer it. Finding the correct line wasn’t difficult, and he didn’t particularly want to think about why that was.

“What is that?” Ratchet demanded hoarsely. “A stimulant?”

“I was quite disappointed when you put yourself to sleep last time, Ratchet. I was so sure you could take more than that. But, I guess we’ll find out soon.” Deadlock removed the drill with the small bit attached and took a moment to examine it.

Ratchet grimaced and his optics locked onto the tool. His look became faraway again, and Deadlock guessed he was either remembering something or trying to mentally remove himself from the situation. “All right, all right, you’ve made your point. I’ll do what I can for Lode.”

Deadlock was legitimately surprised by the speed at which he had agreed. “You really should have spoken up sooner. That was the only shot of stimulant we have on the ship.” A lie. “It’d be a shame to waste it.” Not so much.

Ratchet’s optics widened again and he fought Kingpin every step of the way as he dragged his hands back into place and forced the fingers to splay again. Deadlock tested the tool to make sure it was working, the drill’s high-pitched whine quickly becoming unpleasant. The rate of Ratchet’s vents increased by the moment.

“After all, you could have _not_ ignored my requests over the past few days. But judging from your reaction, this isn’t the first time you’ve been in a situation like this, is it?”

Ratchet ineffectually tried to shift Kingpin off him again before he replied. “The last Con I was caught by seemed to think the drill was a good idea too. I thought you’d be more imaginative,” he spat, but the vitriol lessened as his voice became weaker.

“Let’s just call it a tried and tested method, then,” Deadlock replied, turning off the drill for a moment and scraping the pointed end against the back of Ratchet’s hand. The medic shivered again with apprehension. “But, hmm… If you’re going to stop the pain by healing my crew, you’ll have to do something else to earn your energon.” He glanced at Kingpin, who was too focused on keeping their prisoner in place to participate in threatening him. “I’m sure we’ll think of something later.”

Deadlock positioned the drill over the smallest knuckle of his left hand, assuming that was the least important part. “Still, since you acquiesced so quickly, I’ll only drill one hole _if_ you don’t struggle.”

“Don’t,” Ratchet muttered. “You don’t need to demonstrate it, I already know what it feels like! I’ll- I’ll see what I can do about your friend in stasis as well if you don’t.”

“Ratchet,” Deadlock murmured quietly as he adjusted the angle of entry slightly. “Do you really think you’re in a position to bargain here?”

When the drill started up again, Ratchet bowed his head and hunched his shoulders, but didn’t try to fight them off again. The tone of the drill’s whining changed as he slowly pressed it against, and then inside, the knuckle joint.

And so did Ratchet’s.

At first he just yelled hoarsely, gasping and wincing between shortened breaths. But when the drill dug deeper still, the medic began to beg him to stop, not seeming to even realise what he was saying. “Stop, please stop! Drift, why are you doing this to me?”

Deadlock’s optics narrowed at the name and he went a little deeper than he’d originally intended before finally backing off. “I hope you don’t intend to say or do any more stupid things, Ratchet. Megatron won’t be happy if I destroy your hands, but I’m sure he’ll find another use for you.”

Ratchet stayed silent and didn’t look back up at him. The hole in his hand slowly began to bleed bright energon. It looked like they would have to do something about his low fuel levels before anything else.

Deadlock glanced up at Kingpin and nodded as he put the drill away again. He stood up, and then Kingpin hauled Ratchet back to his unsteady pedes and let him sit on the slab instead. As soon as he was free, Ratchet cradled his injured hand to his chest.

Deadlock crossed the cell and returned with the cube that had been sitting there since last time. He waited for Ratchet to take it in his shaking hands before he turned away and exited the cell. He grabbed his gun before standing in the doorway.

“All right Kingpin, release him and we’ll give him some time to recover before taking him to Lode.”

Kingpin nodded and approached their prisoner from the side so that Deadlock would have a clear shot of him the whole time, just in case. Once the cuffs were off, Kingpin left the cell and locked the door behind him quickly.

Deadlock watched Ratchet drink what was left of the cube before releasing his tools from his arms. He worked on the wound on his hand with fast and precise movements. Once he’d stopped the bleeding there, he moved onto patching his gunshot wounds. Deadlock found it oddly mesmerising and undoubtedly impressive, and he wondered if Ratchet had worked on him like that in the Dead End so long ago.

The beginnings of guilt rose in his chest, the tension quickly becoming suffocating. He quelled his suddenly intense feelings, reminding himself of why he was here now. Ratchet didn’t understand anything. He’d had a good place in their old society, and he’d more than likely have a good one no matter how the war ended. He’d been born with the frame and mindset to make the functionists let him train up an indisposable talent, after all.

_Clean yourself up, get a job…_

Deadlock’s brows drew low as the memory came to him. How was he supposed to have gotten his paint touched up when he could barely afford to fuel? He’d had the only jobs available to someone of his class at the time, short of hiring out his alt-mode. He could either steal what he needed and risk tangling with Enforcers, or humiliate himself for the pleasure of whatever sick bastard was willing to pay up. He wondered how Ratchet would react to being put in the position he’d been in back then, and then suddenly realised he had the power to do that now, if he really wanted to.

But first thing was first. He turned his attention back to the present and saw Ratchet wasn’t bleeding anymore. He was now working more slowly on the delicate hand strut he’d just torn up.

“All right, that’s enough,” he snapped. “Put your hands behind your head where we can see them, and come over here.”

Ratchet complied a moment later, rushing to finish the weld he was working on and then obediently following his instructions to the letter. He stepped out of the cell cautiously and hesitated.

“Go forward, turn left, and then go straight through the next few doors. We’ll keep an eye on you from back here.”

Ratchet nodded and turned, keeping his hands behind his head as he walked down the corridor. They reached Lode without any dramas, and Deadlock noticed him wince when he saw the state their small field medic was in. Lode put his datapad away and looked up curiously when the three of them crowded into the cramped space.

“Well Ratchet, you’d better get to work,” Deadlock said, taking a seat on the berth behind them, but still holding his gun at the ready.

“Did you want to administer a pain killer or something before I start extracting bits?” Ratchet asked Lode quietly, far more subdued now than before.

“I’ve been hopped up on them since we left the planet,” he replied. “I don’t think they’re going to do much to help at this point, so you may as well just go for it.”

“Right,” he agreed, and started taking a scan of Lode’s internals. If Deadlock was honest, he was really relying on Lode to let them know if something went wrong, since his knowledge of medicine was limited to basic first aid.

The procedure took a long time, but it still ended up being a lot shorter than Deadlock had imagined, given how many internal organs had been damaged in the blast. It was little wonder Ratchet was such an asset in the Autobot ranks, and it was certainly clear why Megatron wanted him out the way, or even better, converted to their cause.

“All right,” Ratchet said eventually, the strength and authority having returned to his voice. “That’s pretty well all I can do for now. Don’t overdo it over the next few cycles and there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. And for the love of Primus, _don’t transform_ until the pain goes away completely.”

Deadlock snorted and stretched as he stood. He noticed Ratchet stiffen again and clench his fists, the right tighter than the left. Had he forgotten where he was and who he was working on there?

“You got all that, Lode?” he asked sarcastically.

“Yeah, yeah,” he muttered. “Are we going to look at Topcoat now?”

Deadlock nodded. It would be a shame if Topcoat passed because they couldn’t do anything for him. Deadlock found the mech’s unfailing optimism to be irritating more often than not, but he did remind him of Gasket in a strange way.

“Yeah, I’ll carry you down for now. Kingpin, you take Ratchet ahead.”

Kingpin shifted his stance and gestured again. “Out this door, turn right, through the next door.”

Ratchet returned his hands to his head and complied again. Deadlock was hesitant about taking him into the back and showing him the airlock and escape pods, but if they stayed vigilant and weren’t completely stupid, he’d never make it that far to begin with.

They approached the stasis tank, Deadlock moving forward with Lode in his arms and Ratchet crowding in next to them. Kingpin hung back with his weapon ready, should the need arise.

Ratchet easily navigated the pod’s display, and Deadlock guessed they were probably standardised for this exact reason. Ratchet hummed his discontent, and used the scanner built into his arm to look more closely at Topcoat’s spark chamber. He became apprehensive again and turned to Lode.

“If you have the tools I’m going to need on this ship, I’ll be shocked. You’re better of leaving him in there until you get to a proper medical station, don’t you agree?”

Deadlock looked down at Lode, since they were relying on his diagnosis to make sure Ratchet was telling the truth. The smaller mech reached out to zoom into a certain area of the displayed scan, and then glanced up at him. “We don’t have anything that’ll let us do surgery that delicate. If we were still on the field, there’d be nothing neither of us could have done. We’re lucky we got him to the stasis pod in time.”

“Are you sure? He just fixed himself up in about five minutes flat.”

“It’s not a matter of speed, unfortunately. No field medic carries anything that delicate around when we need so much other stuff for field injuries. We’ll have to wait until we reach the mobile base,” Lode explained carefully. Deadlock noticed he was trying his best to not sound condescending after the last time he’d blown up at the field medic in a rage.

“All right,” Deadlock finally conceded. “Take him back to the cell, Kingpin. I’ll help you in a moment.”

Kingpin looked relieved to be able to put the cuffs back on their prisoner, and pinned his hands behind him this time. He stepped out of the doorway and gestured for Ratchet to go ahead. This was the tricky part of the transfer, so when Deadlock and Lode had followed the pair of them into the central corridor, he overrode the safety protocols and locked the doors behind him.

Deadlock put Lode down on the other bottom bunk, now that the one he’d been on all this time was stained with post-op energon. “Does Ratchet need energon desperately enough that I should give it to him right now?” he asked Lode.

“Yeah, that would be a good idea,” he replied, running a finger over one of the weld lines that Ratchet had been left behind. “Half a cube, minimum. Then he can go back to fuelling with irregular amounts, now that he’s not bleeding anymore.”

Abrupt as ever, Deadlock left the room at that and re-joined Kingpin after retrieving half a serving of their rations. It seemed Ratchet had been content to be led back into his cell, and hadn’t put up a fight when he was locked back inside.

“Since you’re going to be forced to be conscious for at least another hour, you’d better have this,” he said, leaving the fuel on the cell floor in the same place as last time. The metal cylinder he’d placed in the cube would make it easier to intake now that Kingpin had chosen to tie his hands behind him.

“You can go,” he added, turning to look at Kingpin as the mech hovered at the edge of the cell bars uncertainly. He smiled and made his way out the door, most likely to check the autopilot and then get some recharge.

Ratchet remained in his hunched position on the slab, and Deadlock felt his guilt resurface again. While Ratchet was representative of the upper classes, he’d never lived like them. Of course he could’ve done a lot more to help people like him, but he had also done a lot more than nothing. If only the medic had have opened his optics and looked at why he was getting the same patients for the same reasons, over and over again. Deadlock turned away, and left him to mope without another word.

He needed to talk to Megatron.


	4. Chapter 4

Deadlock turned away from the autopilot display once he was confident it was unlikely the ship would need to alter its course for quite some time. There was no way to guarantee nothing would interrupt his call with Megatron, but he’d do what he could to avoid it. Finally a text message came through to his communicator, letting him know that Megatron could take a personal call now.

Deadlock moved to the back of the ship and locked the door behind him, using a do not disturb code. He sat on the floor in the only empty corner of space the tiny vessel seemed to have. Unfortunately, it was right next to the stasis pod. The floating body and luminescent green of the liquid solution made things a little eerie, but he couldn’t be picky right now.

He selected the communication code for Megatron’s private line with a little apprehension and nervousness. It was embarrassing, having to ask for help like this. But usually they both got something out of it, in the end.

“Deadlock?” Megatron asked as his face appeared on the screen of his communicator. Deadlock could see he was sitting on the edge of the berth in his private quarters aboard the mobile base. He wished he could physically be there with him now. It would hardly be the first time.

“Megatron,” he replied. The screens corrected the delay caused by the long distance a moment later, and they were able to see each other properly. He suddenly found it difficult to word what he wanted to ask, and simply demanding ‘ _help me’_ probably wouldn’t go over that well. “How’s the campaign going?”

Megatron tilted his head contemplatively, and took a moment to answer. “Well enough. But I suspect enquiring about that isn’t the reason for your call.”

Deadlock glanced away, taking the hint to hurry up. “No. I’m… I’m finding Ratchet _difficult_. Not because he’s a stubborn glitch, but because he makes me wonder what I’m doing here.”

Megatron steepled his fingers and considered. Deadlock realised his communicator must be resting on the small table next to his berth. “I can understand why you feel that way. I did get very close to convincing Ratchet to join us in the early days. But unfortunately his official job whisked him away from Rodion before I could make my point adequately. Not to mention, he has close personal relations to many of the Autobots, including their leader.

“But we must remember, no real compromise will ever be offered by the elite. They do not want to give up their power. Would you, if you were in their situation?”

Megatron paused, but Deadlock was glad when it turned out to be more for dramatic effect than to give him time to actually answer. “The astrosecond we try to work within the system will be the moment we are consumed by it. In this case, having Ratchet’s sympathies is the ideal outcome, yes, but at this point that’s probably impossible. We will have to make do with making use of his unique skills.”

Deadlock nodded, feeling more settled again. Megatron’s speeches usually had this effect on him, which was why he’d started sitting around long enough to listen and understand, back in the day.

“Thank you. It’s… I’m finding it hard to keep a level head here. Ratchet’s one of _them_ , but at the same time, he’s not the worst of them.”

Megatron smiled patiently. “It’s understandable. Our situation has improved a lot since the revolution began, and he no longer has quite the same social standing.” His voice took on a deeper tone, making Deadlock want to press his legs together. “But I know you can do this. And perhaps if you demonstrate the issues we had to face within the system, beyond discourse, his sympathies may grow.

“And if he snaps under the pressure, well, he will still make a valuable hostage.”

Deadlock felt a surge of relief now that he had some more realistic and clearly defined goals. Megatron’s patient guidance brought a slight smile to his face, and he suddenly felt more like the young and lost streetmech he’d once been. Megatron’s speeches had been like a light in the dark back then, the only thing that had ever stirred hope in him for something greater.

“I’m glad I have your confidence, but I still wish you were here,” he replied softly, looking down submissively before glancing back up again.

Megatron was highly familiar with what Deadlock considered to be flirting. He changed his position so he was leaning against the headboard, and picked up his communicator so he could hold it in front of him. “It seems it’s not just reassurance you’re after,” he commented lightly. “Are you alone?”

Deadlock automatically glanced up at Topcoat’s unconscious form, but his attention quickly returned to the screen. It’d been a long time since he’d had Megatron’s undivided attention like this, and he didn’t want to waste the opportunity no matter how uncomfortable the cramped ship was. “As alone as you can be on a ship this size with five mechs aboard,” he murmured wryly.

“Well then, I suppose we’d better keep this short,” Megatron replied smoothly. “If you were here with me right now, what would you want?”

“Your spike,” he murmured. Megatron was one of the few mechs to which he’d ever said this and meant it.

“Oh really? Are you properly prepared for it?”

“N-no, but I will be soon,” he mumbled as he reached down and started stroking his own panel. Deadlock bit his lip at the glint of lust in his leader’s optics. The first time they’d done this he’d thought he had no choice. He’d thought Megatron was just another gang leader throwing his weight around.

But he couldn’t have been more wrong. He’d been allowed to walk away with no repercussions, and he had been the one to approach the Decepticons again at a later time.

“Let me see,” Megatron replied, voice deep and rumbling. Deadlock shivered and flicked out the stand on his communicator so he could place it on the floor in front of him. He let his panels slide open, and began rubbing over and around his entrance instead, letting his fluids spread over the outside, in full view.

He rubbed his external sensors under Megatron’s gaze. The memory of the ridged bottom of Megatron’s spike rubbing against the inside of his valve had his temperature increasing sharply. Thoughts of the way the shaft filled him, and how the head massaged his sweet spot assaulted his senses. Deadlock pushed his fingers inside himself, a poor but welcome substitute.

He looked back at the screen, Megatron’s lust filled optics giving him some sense of satisfaction. Megatron was stroking himself now as well. “I never tire of seeing you like this,” he murmured.

His valve clenched against his fingers at the voice. He always did what he could for the cause, of course. But in that moment he didn’t think there was anything he wouldn’t do to make Megatron happy.

* * *

 

Ratchet lay on the berth with his optics offline. It was difficult to get comfortable, and his hand still hurting like a glitch didn’t help with that at all. But, he knew it would be all too easy for things to escalate again. _Deadlock_ was clearly unstable, which made him difficult to predict.

Unfortunately for him, Ratchet was an expert at bending without breaking by now. Sure, Lode was free to walk around now, and that wasn’t going to make escaping any easier, but the complicated nature of the operation had given him a chance to make up for it. And the next time he was out of these damned stasis cuffs, he’d be able to activate the kill switch he’d planted.

Well, to be accurate, it was more a fainting switch meant to help him manage difficult or mentally unstable patients. But it would be one less Con to worry about at the critical moment. Not to mention, the implant in his recent patient’s t-cog acted as a monitor, letting him hear, albeit faintly, what was going on around Lode, as well as monitor his vital signs.

It had been a risk slipping it in there among his normal flurry of operating movements, and there was always the risk it would be found by a simple medical scan. But things could only get worse if they reached the base before he’d found a way to escape. At this point Ratchet felt he had nothing to lose. Nothing but his hands and his life, which were essentially the same thing when he stopped to think about it too long.

He shifted his head back over the small black spot that was his end of the device, mentally cursing that Kingpin character out for pinning his hands behind his back this time. As soon as the device touched him it became inactive thanks to the cuffs, but at the same time he couldn’t hear a damn thing if his audial was more than a few millimetres away from it. His neck strained as he tried to listen.

_“…’s Deadlock?”_

_“… Megatron? I dunno…”_

Ratchet scowled but couldn’t make the words out any better no matter how hard he tried. He hoped it would at least act as an early warning system if they were going to throw something especially unpleasant at him again.

He sighed and let the small black speck magnetise to the underside of his plating again. He kept it under the plating over his spark chamber so it wouldn’t be in danger of being shot or otherwise destroyed unless his life was in danger anyway.

He couldn’t end up in Megatron’s hands. Optimus could do _something stupid_ , and even if he didn’t, soldiers that may have survived if were there were dying every passing moment. The battle had already moved off to a different sector, so he didn’t have any useful intelligence that they’d try to pry from him, at the very least. But Deadlock seemed to have no trouble finding ways to amuse himself at his expense, anyway.

But was that entirely true? It was hard to believe the young mech from back then and this… angry zealot were one in the same.

He had a feeling he would soon find out for sure, one way or another.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh, I don’t even really feel like talking about politics right now let alone the heavier stuff in this fic, so this chapter’s a short one. But I did somehow manage to write it without calling anyone a "gentle labourer". 
> 
> Revolution when???

Deadlock stiffened as a sudden noise jolted him out of recharge, but he relaxed again when he realised it was just the alarm he’d set for himself. Ratchet would be feeling the emptiness of his tanks about now.

They had little over two days before the supply ship would meet them. Then they would be back at base only a few days after that. If he was going to do this, it was now or never.

He slid off the top bunk of the berth and landed lightly on the floor in front of the empty bottom bunk. Lode was still resting and recovering, and Kingpin was on duty somewhere. Deadlock moved over to the energon dispenser, checking again to make sure he’d cleaned himself up properly after yesterday.

He filled one cube and then another, while reassuring himself that he’d cleaned up properly before even leaving the back room. He was definitely looking forward to getting back on base.

Deadlock passed the berths on his way to the door, noticing Lode was still in recharge. He crossed the main hall and entered the storage room. Kingpin was leaning against the wall of boxes at the far end of the room again. He looked tired, and Deadlock couldn’t really blame him.

“You’re off shift now,” he said, briefly glancing over at Ratchet, who did look interested in the energon in his hands. “Sorry it was so long, here’s an extra ration. If Lode isn’t up and about by the end of mine, I’ll take an extra-long one.”

Kingpin smiled and took the cube gratefully. “No problems there at all. But if this is for me, then what are you going to feed the prisoner?”

Deadlock looked at Ratchet, who seemed to be trying to feign disinterest now. But he knew from personal experience that that was difficult when running on empty. “I’m sure we can work something out,” he replied, but his optics remained on the medic.

Kingpin shrugged and took his leave at that. Deadlock approached the metal bars in a leisurely manner, and bent over to lean his elbow on one of the horizontal ones in a casual manner. He took a sip of energon, not having realised how low his own levels had been getting. “Morning, Ratchet.”

The medic looked at him sceptically. “You’re in a good mood,” he observed.

“Getting out of your dull company for a while probably has something to do with it,” he replied evenly. “Though speaking to Megatron definitely helped.”

“Huh,” Ratchet muttered noncommittally, but Deadlock could see he was processing something furiously.

“You, on the other hand, seem to be even more crotchety than usual.”

“I tend to get that way when I’m short on fuel,” he muttered sourly. His expression seemed to grow more apprehensive as he waited for whatever Deadlock was going to do to him this time.

“Don’t you know, Ratchet? According to our traditional Cybertronian values, you need to work for your fuel. So surely it’s _fair_ for me to expect you to do something for me first?” The words coming out of his mouth were worryingly similar to one of the mechs he’d serviced just to fuel. But that was the whole point of this, right?

“I already told you, there’s nothing I can do for Topcoat without the right equipment.”

“Then you’re saying you have nothing of value to give me in exchange for the rest of my ration?” he asked patiently, taking another sip of the fuel. The longer this went on, the less Ratchet would get.

“Isn’t existing in your little scrapbox here enough?” Ratchet muttered.

It was hard to not laugh bitterly. “In my experience, no, it’s not enough.” The whole point of their conversation seemed to be dawning on Ratchet now. “So if you want this, you’d better think of something.”

Ratchet held back a sigh, barely, and probably would have crossed his arms if they weren’t currently tied behind him. “If you think attempting to humiliate me is going to make me sympathetic to your cause, then you’re dead wrong.”

Deadlock simply shrugged and backed off from the bars. “All right then.” He finished off the cube with a quick swig and made himself comfortable against Kingpin’s favourite wall.

“What exactly is starving me going to achieve?” Ratchet demanded once he was mostly out of sight. It seemed easier to speak openly when they were talking to the room at large instead of each other. “I assume Megatron wants me alive, so you’ll just have to fuel me when I pass out.”

“Not quite,” Deadlock replied, knowing that was the only thing stopping the ‘demonstration’ from being completely accurate. “You can be kept both unconscious and fuelled until we reach base. That’s pretty well against your interests, right?”

Ratchet’s frustrated expression and complete silence told him he was right.

“It’s tough when this is the only ‘work’ available to you, isn’t it? But exchanging your labour for the bare minimum needed to survive is humiliating no matter what you’re actually doing.”

“You do know Autobots aren’t trying to protect the old status quo, don’t you? All we wanted was to change things peacefully. But there’s nothing but petty fights going on between us even now that the old regime has been eliminated.

“Peaceful change? How long do you think _that_ would have taken? People were being killed because of the alt-mode they were forged or constructed with. Those deigned useful simply completed dangerous and unnecessary tasks that could have been mostly done by automatons, in return for only the minimum they needed to survive.

“And since the moment I came into being I’d been painfully aware that any day on the streets could have been my last.” Deadlock pushed away from the wall and went to stand in front of the cell bars again so he could glare at the occupant. “There was never time for fruitless negotiation, and now you and your faction are just protracting things!”

Ratchet wasn’t able to meet his optics and simply slumped against the back of his cell. He looked almost guilty, and Deadlock was able to feel some satisfaction in that. “Look kid, I get it. I know you don’t believe me, but that was a contentious issue for me, too. How much talking would it take to create real change? How many lives would be wasted while self-evident points were being made to uninterested elites?

“But I don’t want to live the rest of my life a military mech. Megatron has just about secured everything he needs to run a prosperous Cybertron into the future. He has the right people and he has the required resources. But things don’t look like they’re going to slow down any time soon, do they? What could he possibly need to attack next?”

“Say what you want about your Autobots being in the right, but revolutions can go both ways! If Megatron isn’t secure in his position both in force and ideology, Autobot extremists will just demonise those they consider beneath them again!”

Ratchet’s mouth tightened but he inclined his head slightly. “Even if that’s true, how long will this go on for? Ever since the war went interstellar, the organics have been getting nervous. If they try to intervene, are they going to be Megatron’s next excuse for continuing the Decepticon crusade?”

Deadlock snarled, but knew he couldn’t attack him again now; it would make monitoring Ratchet’s energon levels near impossible. But, Megatron had been right, of course. Deadlock wouldn’t have much faith in him if he weren’t right most of the time. Discourse alone wasn’t going to get this conversation anywhere. And there was only one way he could think of to demonstrate what he’d been through.

He left the cell without another word and moved to the pilot’s seat instead. Time was running out. He had to make his point with the next lot of rations he got.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *points at the warnings and tags*

Deadlock measured out two rations once again. Things couldn’t go the way they had last time. He knew this was going to be difficult for him, but if it would help the cause and make Megatron’s life easier, then he felt compelled to do what he could. He traced the familiar path through to the storage area and holding cell, and placed the two cubes on the boxes that were opposite the cell, within Ratchet’s line of sight.

He turned and signalled at the camera to let Lode know things were going ahead and that he was now the one formally on duty and responsible. Only then did he turn his attention to Ratchet. The medic was sitting on the slab and leaning against the wall. He seemed resigned now, and Deadlock guessed that he wouldn’t put up much resistance.

Best not to think too much and just do it.

Deadlock put his guns down on the box next to the energon before unlocking the cell and entering it once more. “Are you ready to get to the point this time?” he asked, finding it difficult to disguise his own hesitation. He could just imitate his abusers, but that would mean embodying some of the people he hated most.

Megatron always said they weren’t their real enemy; the elites were. But it was hard to keep that in perspective when it was those slightly above him that did most of the direct face-stomping in their attempt to climb out of their own crappy lot in life.

“If you’re going to do this, then get on with it,” Ratchet muttered as he pushed himself forward with a wince.

Deadlock stopped in front of the slab and looked down at him. The sense of power he felt in the situation was intoxicating, even if things weren’t panning out quite the way he wanted. “Get on the floor,” he ordered.

The medic made his way to the floor almost immediately, and Deadlock decided that ignoring his backtalk had been the most effective thing, this time. He sat on the edge of the slab that served as a berth in here and positioned his legs far apart. Ratchet’s optics slid down his frame before skittering off to the side.

“On the street, taking someone’s valve was usually more popular than their mouth,” Deadlock said casually. “But you’re well aware of what I’ll do to you if you try to hurt me, so I don’t see any issues with starting there.” He also knew what it was like to be so under fuelled it was physically impossible to convince his valve to lube up. That could be… saved for a punishment if needed.

Sure.

“I’m not actually that interested in you, physically. But you’re not going to get fuel unless I overload, so you’d better put some effort in,” he mocked.

Ratchet shifted slightly before finally returning to looking him in the optic. “That’d be much easier if I had my hands in front of me,” he muttered, bending his arms slightly at the elbow to emphasise his restricted state.

Deadlock nodded, conceding the point. As long as the medic couldn’t access to his tools, it wouldn’t make a difference to him either way. And honestly, he probably wouldn’t be able to get it up without as much help as possible, given the situation. “All right, don’t move,” he agreed as he leaned over.

He was able to transition the position of his hands without any trouble, but frowned when the cuffs didn’t seem to lock back into place in quite the right way. The noise they’d made was unusual, but when he tugged at them to check, they stayed in place just fine. He had to hope they weren’t breaking since they were the only pair on board. But there wasn’t time to be overly cautious now.

Deadlock leaned back and used hands hands to support himself. He let his legs open a little more in a gesture of confidence. “Whenever you’re ready.”

Ratchet didn’t respond, and even managed to school his features before raising his hands to stroke the inside of his thighs. His mouth soon joined them in caressing his legs. Deadlock was shocked by the gentleness in Ratchet’s touch, despite everything he’d done to him since they’d captured him. The strangeness wasn’t worth complaining about, but he felt he could say he’d never been touched without urgency and desperation.

Ratchet seemed to be aware of his discomfort and cut to the chase before he could say anything more. His mouth went to his interface panels, and Deadlock made them move aside immediately in the hopes of deterring any more of this… this. His spike wasn’t ready to come out yet, but that didn’t seem to bother Ratchet much as he kept stroking around his secondary covers with his fingers and glossa.

Normally he’d only release his spike, but Deadlock found both of his panels were sliding aside without much conscious input. Ratchet licked up the underside of his spike before taking it into his mouth, while his other hand moved down to stroke his valve entrance.

When the medic gently pushed a small way into his entrance, his optics widened. He panicked slightly as his control over the situation seemed to slip from his grasp. Deadlock lashed out, lifting his leg so he could grab the offending hand and shove a finger into the recent, still only partially healed, wound. Ratchet winced around his spike, and fear showed in his optics. Deadlock knew he was overreacting, and that the strong reaction was making his weakness all too clear, but he had to do something.

“That’s not for you,” he growled, flinging his hand aside and glaring down at the medic, who cradled his hand against his chest when he got the chance. “It’s not that hard to figure out what to do, is it?” he demanded as he gripped the back of Ratchet’s head.

Unable to answer, the mech sucked his spike a little harder as though trying to appease him. But Deadlock was in a position to do whatever he wanted to his mouth. He pulled him forward, forcing him to take his spike deeper until he felt the gag reflex try and fail to push back against him. He shifted his head away before slamming forward again and again, each wince and gag feeling like an assertion of his position.

Ratchet looked uncomfortable, but still relatively composed given the circumstances. Deadlock wondered if he’d ever had something like this done to him before. He eventually managed to wring an overload out of himself, and kicked Ratchet away as soon as he was done. Still, it made it obvious that as far as asserting himself went, he’d done a pretty poor job of it. He needed to do something more.

Deadlock stood quickly and moved around the hunched up ball of mech on the floor, who was coughing into his own hand. Transfluid streaked his face, and the burn of arousal at the sight was a shock as well. He snatched up one of the cubes he’d left outside the cell and poured a small portion of it into the one with the metal straw he’d left for the prisoner some time ago.

Deadlock drank the rest of the cube himself before moving over to Ratchet and forcing his portion into his hands. “If you want more fuel than that, you’ll have to work for it.”

Ratchet avoided his optics and quickly drank down some of the offered fuel. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you didn’t want to be touched there. I won’t do it again,” he murmured weakly between sips.

It didn’t matter how sincere the apology was, Deadlock was still smarting with shame. Ratchet put the cube aside, trying to keep his face blank. But he could probably guess what was going to happen next.

Deadlock pushed him face first into the floor so that Ratchet was bent over on his knees, legs spread apart. He stared determinedly at the floor, but trembled when Deadlock palmed a harsh line over his interface panels with his other hand. He wasn’t entirely surprised when they opened without a fight. Ratchet knew he’d hurt him to pry them open.

The medic rested his head in his hands, optics offline. Deadlock prodded at his valve entrance with a finger, feeling it quiver, and noticing Ratchet try to move away slightly at each of his touches. Deadlock knew he was adept at manipulating his own body functions, but he hadn’t expected him to gather even a little moisture down there so soon after fuelling.

He shoved two of his fingers inside him before enough lube could gather and reduce the friction to something bearable. Ratchet’s hands gripped his helm harder, and Deadlock felt him trying and failing to make himself relax.

A feeling he was all too familiar with.

He thrust his fingers in and out a few times, forcing his way in deeper with each stroke. The medic winced when he knocked against the end of his passage. Deadlock asked a question he’d heard too many times before. “How am I supposed to get off if you can’t at least pretend to enjoy it?”

Ratchet didn’t deign that with a response. It seemed the best he could manage was covering his negative reactions. “You’re hurting me,” he muttered, almost too quiet to hear.

That was the entire point. He wasn’t sure why Ratchet kept trying to appeal to his better nature. “You can take it, can’t you?” He thrust a few more times, drawing more winces as he went. “I hate you so much.”

Ratchet’s response was quiet and flat. “I’m not the one who did this to you.”

“No, you weren’t,” Deadlock conceded. “But you still felt it was your place to criticise even though you couldn’t have possibly understood what anyone like me was going through. I hope this gave you some perspective.”

* * *

 

Ratchet was even more relieved than usual when Deadlock left. Ignoring his discomfort, he shuffled over to the cube and took the straw in his hand. Damaging the cuffs in specific places would be much easier now that his hands were in front of him, at least. He’d nearly had a spark attack when the damn things had suspiciously almost failed to lock properly earlier.

But he could tell the other mech had been just as uncomfortable with the situation. In the end it had been relatively easy to get what he wanted. And if he had to put up with transfluid and painful fingering in the meantime, well, he’d have plenty of time to worry about how fragged up that was later. If he made his move now he’d get out before the supply ship could arrive, and before Deadlock recovered from being rattled by memories of his past.

He knew where he had to go and what he had to do, thanks to the inadvertent tour he’d been given earlier. Now he just had to actually do it.


	7. Chapter 7

Deadlock sat on the top bunk of his berth with his knees drawn up. He stared contemplatively at the remaining bit of energon in his cube. He still felt conflicted about what he’d done, and was considering telling Megatron that he wouldn’t be able to go through with this after all. He didn’t want to disappoint or inconvenience him, but it was better to be upfront about it than have to try and explain his failure later.

Kingpin was lying on the bunk opposite him. He remained oddly still for a moment, but finally slid off the berth to land on the floor with a thud. He looked like he wanted to say something, but seemed to think better of it and simply left to change shifts with Lode. Deadlock took another sip of the energon and felt the back of his optics burn with quiet rage and upset.

Lode entered the room a moment later, and looked up at him. Deadlock turned away. Lode had probably seen all of what had happened in real time.

“Last I checked, you charged for that kind of thing,” he stated lightly as he approached the berth. Of course the first thing to come out of his mouth was the worst possible thing.

“If you say another word, I swear to Primus I’ll…”

“You’ll what, sulk at me?

“What, you gotta kick people when they’re down because that’s the only time you can reach?” Deadlock snarled, his patience all but gone.

“Why don’t we do things just like old times, Deadlock? You give me what I want, and I’ll avoid telling the others exactly how you worked your way up the ranks so quickly. That, and I won’t tell Megatron what a ninny you’re being.”

Deadlock wasn’t sure where the sudden burst of confident smart-assery had come from, but he’d had more than enough of this conversation, and the little medic in general. Some people saw a crack and just had to stick their finger in it as far as they could. He drew his gun and slid to the ground in a single smooth movement.

“What is it, Lode?” he asked softly, already well past the stage of swinging his fists wildly. The medic looked confused and took half a step back, as though he’d only just remembered who he was dealing with.

Deadlock reached for his throat with a precise move and slammed the medic against the wall, lifting him until his feet left the ground. Lode grabbed at the hand pinching his sensitive neck cables together, but he wasn’t strong enough to break his iron grip.

“What kind of degenerate pays someone else to use their spike? Is it really that difficult for you to find someone to frag you?” Deadlock raised the hand holding the gun and forced the barrel into Lode’s mouth before he could figure out what he was trying to do and attempt to prevent it. “Since you seem to miss sucking on it so much, you can have this instead.”

The door whooshed open before he could squeeze the trigger, and Kingpin quickly wrenched his arm away.

“How did I know this was going to happen?” he muttered, sounding tired. “Lode, if you’re dumb enough to taunt our _unit commander_ , then I’m just going to leave you for dead next time. We’ve got a far more talented medic under our thumb at the moment anyway.

“Deadlock, you heard what Megatron said last time. If you offline another fellow crewmember, he’s going to demote you and shove you in someone else’s unit.”

Deadlock didn’t appreciate being chastised, and bared his sharpened teeth at the larger warrior. But Kingpin remained unimpressed, and it wasn’t really him Deadlock was mad at anyway. He needed space to clear his head, but that was one thing they didn’t have on a ship this size, unless he wanted to have a tantrum where their prisoner could see him.

“The supply ship is set to meet us in less than a day. Surely we can all avoid insulting and injuring each other until then,” Kingpin murmured more gently this time.

Deadlock found his ability to lead frustrating, since it made him question what he was doing with the title unit commander when he couldn’t even handle three other mechs. Not even while one of them was injured enough to be in a stasis pod, it seemed.

“I’m going to take care of things in the cockpit,” Deadlock growled. “You watch the prisoner, and _you_ stay out of my way if you know what’s good for you,” he added before reattaching his weapon to his hip and leaving the room.

At least this way he’d get a little privacy, and the supplies might reach them before he had to swap shifts again and see Lode’s stupid faceplate.

* * *

 

Ratchet cursed quietly when the small speck magnetised to his plating again and the conversation he was listening in on cut out once more. He now knew for a fact that he was just about out of time, and it sounded like Deadlock wasn’t going to make his job any easier after all.

While he wasn’t entirely sure how the fight had come about, it seemed Lode was the type to sniff out and exploit any show of weakness. And that only further confirmed that Deadlock had managed to rattle himself in their encounter.

Ratchet flinched when he heard the door to the cargo bay slide open. He hid the bugging device before sitting up and turning to watch the mech walk down the corridor past his makeshift cell.

There was no way he could overpower or outsmart someone as cautious as Kingpin. It looked like all he could do now was wait until the shift changed and fervently hope the supply ship didn’t come before then.

* * *

 

Deadlock ground his dentae as the transmission was cut off. The ship was so close yet so far, but he couldn’t make Kingpin stay on duty until it arrived. They had somehow managed to jump further away from them than they were supposed to, and now it could take up to another half day for them to arrive.

He supposed there was one easy solution to this; put Lode on duty. Ratchet had either given up and would be easy to handle, or he’d be getting desperate. Deadlock smiled to himself, knowing it would more than likely be the latter. Maybe _something_ would happen to the mech if he was on guard duty right now.

But rather than go tell the mech he was changing the scheduled shift, he’d get Kingpin to go do it. It was better this way. There would be no temptation to beat the idiot’s aft again.

When he put the order through, Kingpin carefully said nothing as Deadlock watched him leave the cargo bay. He knew he was being immature, but he was beyond caring at this point. Lode didn’t look amused when he entered the cargo bay and glanced up at the surveillance camera.

But Deadlock was too busy looking at Ratchet, who was now shifting restlessly, as though trying to figure out why he was still here after another change in the guard. The bulky mech continued to hesitate, and then Lode turned to face him, responding to words Deadlock couldn’t hear. Ratchet approached the bars, and Lode didn’t back off.

Deadlock snorted when the Autobot medic’s hands shot through the bars and took a hold of Lode’s rifle. The cuffs broke and clattered to the ground, and the door swung open when Ratchet stepped into it aggressively. Lode soon found himself pinned against the outside of the bars, with the cell door and his rifle restricting his movement despite Ratchet’s less than fully functional state.

Deadlock stood and drew his pistols. As fun as this was, he’d have to stop the situation from escalating further. Unlike Lode, the Autobot was actually competent, and the supply ship would be on them sooner than later. He was too close to fail now.

By the time Deadlock entered the cargo bay, Lode was standing in front of Ratchet with his hands on the back of his head and the rifle pressed to the small of his back. Deadlock smirked at Lode, and the terror in his optics immediately became more pronounced. Ratchet looked unsure, but proceeded with his original plan, anyway.

“You let me out of here, and I won’t shoot,” he said.

Deadlock laughed. “The only problem with your little plan is that I couldn’t care less if you shoot. Hell, I’d do it myself.”

Lode flinched and his fingers dug into the back of his head. Ratchet looked concerned, but there was no point in him backing down now. “I’m not messing around,” he growled. “Get out the way!”

“Neither am I,” Deadlock murmured, training one pistol at Ratchet’s head over Lode’s shoulder, and the other at Lode’s chest. His ambidexterity and ability to focus on what both his hands were doing independently was another reason for his fearsome reputation. “Get out the way Lode, or I’ll shoot you myself.”

Lode tried to shuffle aside, clearly more worried about Deadlock’s threat than Ratchet’s. But it seemed Ratchet hadn’t gotten the memo. He took hold of the smaller mech, attempting to use his frame as a shield of some kind. It was awkward trying to keep the business end of his gun against his hostage, but it didn’t stop him.

Deadlock let out a small sigh and made a snap decision. He shot Lode in the head with one hand, and twice in the chest with the other. He knew by now that was enough to kill a mech of his size and constitution instantly.

Ratchet’s optics widened, and Deadlock took the chance to strike. He pushed Ratchet away, and weak and hungry as he was, he fell on his aft with a clang. Deadlock moved in, knowing the closer he was, the less useful the rifle would be. But there was one thing he didn’t consider.

Ratchet’s expression twisted into a snarl, one hand digging into sensitive wiring in Deadlock’s side, the other switching out for a blowtorch attachment and burning sensitive neck cables. Deadlock hissed at the pain and slammed the offending wrist into the ground, but Ratchet had already used the distraction to start rolling them over so he’d be on top and able to break away from the fight.

Deadlock rolled to his feet and aimed his remaining pistol at Ratchet’s retreating back. All he had to do was injure the mech enough so he couldn’t walk, then he’d easily be bundled into the supply ship and taken back to base where Megatron could decide his fate.

Deadlock stared down at his own hand, not quite sure why he still hadn’t squeezed the trigger.

Ratchet glanced over his shoulder and saw him hesitate before rounding the corner out of Deadlock’s line of shot. Deadlock shook his head and got back to his feet, chasing after the medic once more. But by the time he got to the main corridor on the ship, the door to the engine room and escape pods was already closing behind their escapee.

As Deadlock ran down the short corridor he heard the door to their quarters open behind him and Kingpin’s heavy footsteps following him down the hall. “Where’s Lode?” he asked.

“Who cares?” Deadlock spat as the engine room door slid open.

But the escape pod was already half way through its launch sequence. Ratchet gave him a long, sober look through the small porthole right before he was blasted into space at high speed.

“Frag it all,” Deadlock growled, but the energy had already left him.

“The supply ship might be close, there’s still time,” Kingpin said, striding back down the hall to the cockpit.

Deadlock followed him because he wasn’t sure what else to do. Not being able to torment the prisoner was one thing, but letting him escape when they were this close would only invite Megatron’s wrath.

Deadlock tried to push his feelings down. Not even those were safe from Soundwave’s probing.

“Right, they should have a smaller ship on board that’s more suitable for chasing a pod,” Deadlock agreed as he stabbed at the screen for intership communications.

The tracking systems were still active, but now that Ratchet had full access to his tools, Deadlock didn’t know how long that would last. Either way, the ship’s AI was using the pod’s trajectory to predict where it would end up.

“There’re still more of us than there are of him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The more I write Deadlock, the more bogan he becomes.


End file.
